


Lost One's Weeping

by ySoda (yrxole)



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Based on a Vocaloid Song, Crying, Depression, Explicit Language, M/M, Metaphors, Oma gives the hug btw, Out of Character Oma Kokichi, Paranoia, READ THE AUTHORS NOTE, References to Depression, Sad Saihara Shuichi, Sad with a Happy Ending, Saihara Shuichi Needs a Hug, Saihara Shuichi-centric, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, Tired Saihara Shuichi, ft me pushing my problems onto shuichi, not that explicit but it is there, pregame and ingame shuichi are the same person, probably, self mutilation, trigger warning, vent fic, we havin a rough time lads moving on, well you dont have to read my personal story in it but read the last trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yrxole/pseuds/ySoda
Summary: ‘You’re hurt’, Ouma stated, his head tilting a bit.‘I’ve noticed’, the detective responded.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 108





	Lost One's Weeping

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Alright I'm gonna be fully honest right now because I have kept this information to myself. I find it hard to be completely serious when talking about things like this, so that's why I vent through writing fiction.
> 
> (This can be very triggering; so only read the story if you can handle that, please). 
> 
> Warning for the personal note: talk of s//cide, intrusive thoughts, depression; you can basically get where this is heading. 
> 
> I have not been doing well, at all. I guess those who have read some of my stories already know so, and those that know my other account on here are aware that I wasn't doing well. In november shit just happened to get worse and worse and I was at a loss of what to do, so I tried to end things, so to say. It's been months now and I still am very much affected by this attempt, besides not feeling any better at all. I am getting help however. It's hard to listen to my own thoughts for to long, as i get incredible urges to do the most stupid of shit to myself which I'm not going to go into detail about.I feel stupid for not being able to handle shit, it's been months already and simply thinking of having to go back to school or having to go to work so now and then makes me panic. I've been in therapy for four years now and I'm just not feeling better, I'm not sure how to explain how very fucking tiring that is. It's mostly that I'm so tired and done with everything, it's hard to write at most times. I'm glad I managed to finish my other story that I worked so hard on. 
> 
> I'm sorry for writing like this again, but I guess now you know. 
> 
> TW (for the story): (mentions of) depressive thoughts / depression, self mutilation (not graphically depicted), self hatred / loathing, paranoia  
> (also at first I was going with pg but then it turned into in game so now shuichi is the same person in game as he is pregame)

_ (origionally was going to be called Saihara-chan’s Suicidal Shitshow on Solitude, but I can’t finish fics with a completely bad ending even if I feel horrible it seems).  _

* * *

**_  
Can we keep going like this?  
_ ** **_What're you gonna do?  
I don't care anymore!  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_\- ロストワンの号哭 (Lost One no Goukoku), Neru.  
_ ** **_  
_ ** ****

* * *

**  
** Maybe Shuichi Saihara wanted for someone to come for him that day. Maybe he’d even wished for it, subconsciously, because perhaps this someone was exactly the one push that he needed to start to see the light. Everyone has been talking to him about it after all, about that stupid light and that once he’ll see it, all the things that seem so very hard right now turn out to be simple matters that can easily be solved. Everyone gets to see that light once in their life, or so he’s been told. They’ll finally realise their purpose. Some see it early on in their lives, those are the kids that have held onto their dream of becoming an astronaut ever since they accidentally stumbled upon a documentary on the moon on the adult channels of their family-shared television, and have never changed their mind on this matter. Some find it later, that light. Some even stumble across it as a blessing in disguise, when losing family members and traveling across the globe for them was what it took to finally turn it on.  
  
Shuichi Saihara wasn’t sure if such a light truly existed. He often found himself thinking about it, and thinking about it deeply. Was it truly a source of energy that he had to look for? One that if he closed his eyes, was big enough to turn his vision red after closing his eyes tightly when he laid himself in bed every single night? Or was it a metaphorical light, one that you can not see, but you can feel the switch in your hands once you have found what you are looking for? It was vague, the description and the purpose of this light. When did you find this so-called source of meaning? Were there instructions left behind on the package that Shuichi never received, or perceived as trash and threw out? 

A light had been on in his bedroom that day, although it was a faint one, and not the one that everyone had been talking about. He had held onto it with his hands, onto the flaming hot bulb that burned the skin of his finger tips. He hadn’t let go. He wondered what would happen if he were to squeeze the bulb. If he shattered it to pieces, screaming at it to turn off. Would it stay on? Would it pretend all its shattered pieces weren’t broken, but simply rearranged? Would it yell back at Shuichi, and tell him that he had no right to break things just because he felt like he could relate to that bulb? There was a chance that it wouldn’t even break, no matter how hard the bluenette tried. There was a chance that it would fall down on the floor with a mocking thump, and roll underneath his bed, only to laugh at him for having sunken as deep as he had. Maybe it wouldn’t do anything.  
  
He wondered if someone would hear it break. Sounds of glass shattering would echo through his room and bounce off the walls, until they had bounced enough to slip underneath the small gap underneath his door. If someone was walking past his place, possibly they couldn’t have made out exactly what was happening inside. Would they worry? Shuichi doubted it. He had broken more than a light bulb, and no one really worried. He wasn’t even sure if they noticed. Sometimes he figured that he had tried hard enough to bring out his actual worries, and that everyone was tired of it. His friends and his neighbors, his teachers and his parents, it didn’t really change. He had been forced to talk, forced to talk so many times that he wasn’t sure who he told what and if he even said anything to begin with. It didn’t really matter either. It didn’t change anything. He was taking the pills he was supposed to and he was having the sleep he needed, and that was really all he could do. He had hoped that one day, perhaps when he finally managed to open his curtains in the early morning, he could look out of his window and realise that he had found exactly what he wanted to find all along. The stupid fucking light.  
  
Shuichi had made many different agreements, although he didn’t really call them agreements whenever he thought about them late at night, reminding himself that he couldn’t listen to his thoughts. He had made so many of them, with his friends and with his family, that he couldn’t remember which ones his mind had made up and which ones actually existed. If he didn’t care about them, everything would’ve been so much easier, but unfortunately he didn’t work that way. Once he gave in everything would slip from his hands, every last thing he thought he had even just the littlest bit of control over. And what difference did it make? Did it make any difference? He still thought about it. All of it. Agreement or not, he still thought about it. He still contemplated it, and he still planned it. He tried to take careful steps back from it, but lately the steps have been very little, and the ground he was walking on has become more steep; surely he would fall over soon, it was only a matter of time, and he’d land right back down where he started, if not further down. Shuichi wasn’t sure if he could trust himself enough not to fall.  
  
No one listened to him when he was screaming into his pillow at night, and when he was throwing his limbs around so hard that they hurt on that loud ass music his parents used to complain about all the time, but now were awfully accepting of. They were tired of him, oh, for sure they were. No one listened to him when his shirt had been thrown into the washing bin, crimson red staining the white tee with some washed out anime protagonist on the front that he couldn’t care to remember the name of in this state. His mother had washed it, and had brought it back to his room while she reminded him to clean the mess he’d made of his room again some time. No one listened to him when he couldn’t take out his earbuds during class, afraid of having a breakdown while everyone was looking. That was what he did best, after all. He hid his true self, all the same while showing too much to the outside world. Everyone knew about Shuichi, and about his true feelings, but that didn’t mean they understood. So he shut his mouth. If he was supposed to laugh, he laughed. If he was supposed to be quiet, he was quiet. If he was supposed to talk, he talked. But none of it felt real, and he hated not feeling real. Protagonists, antagonists, love interests, all of those were a fake world that he loved to drown in, but when real life felt no much realer, that was a problem.  
  
He couldn’t say anything, really. Anything he said was wrong. If he told his parents he felt like he wasn’t able to contain himself any longer, he would be burdening them. If he told them he was fine, he would be lying. If he told his friends that he didn’t feel so well lately, he’d be manipulating them into staying around him. If he lied to them, they’d never trust him again. He figured that staying in his room on his own was his best bet. It wasn’t really good for him, he knew, but it was the safest option if he wanted to protect those around him. What would he say to them anyway? It’s not like they’d truly listen. He wasn’t even sure how to word it.  
  
That day, he’d taken out the lightbulb of his room and he’d thrown it against his wall. His hand was trembling, and he couldn’t contain the thick tears that rolled down his cheeks. The killing game didn’t even matter to him anymore, not as much as it used to. Without Kaede it didn’t matter. With Momota lying to him, and with Maki not really caring, it didn’t matter. Whether he was to kill someone in the end, or someone would stop his heart from beating, it didn’t make a difference. Monokuma could come into his room and offer him whatever he needed to make an end to his own participation in the game, which he could take if he wanted to, and it didn’t really end anything. Because Shuichi would fail. He was very sure of that. He’d fail and he’d be even worse of a burden towards everyone, because now they’d truly understand the heaviness of having this blue haired child around them playing detective. Maybe it would be even worse, and they wouldn’t understand, and they’d be absolutely raging. They’d hate him. Perhaps they already did.  
  
He wanted out, that was all he truly wanted, but he couldn’t. Not when people were depending on him and not when it could cause a chain of reactions. He wanted to be selfish and he wanted to let go of every moral he had left in his body. He wanted to be selfish so badly that he tried to tell himself he was, but it only worked against him. He was an ungrateful and horrible piece of filth, and he was lonely, so very lonely. He didn’t even remember Kaede’s last words to him, that was how selfish he had become. His mind kept on making room for more intrusive thoughts that wanted to know what it felt like to hang onto the last string of life with one hand left to carry him, that wanted to know if he could make himself look like the monster he felt like, and if he could manage to take his own eyes out so he could take a good look at himself. He wanted to know what his insides looked like. If they were just as miserable as they felt. If his stomach would still turn with every single thought and every single useless tear that rolled down his cheek if it were outside of his body. If his heart would still hurt with every single thought if he’d reach his hands past his lungs and harshly rip it out of his ribcage.  
  
He’d almost given in, too. He wished he could blame it on the killing game, but he knew it would be wrong to. All the killing game had done for him was that it had pulled him out of his bedroom at home, and pushed him into a new one in this building. He was actually needed in this game, and wanted, but only for the game itself which he despised. He could never be grateful for what he got, that was for sure. He was pretty sure they lied to him about his ultimate talent anyway. If he really had a talent, there was no need for him to feel this useless after all. Nothing he did really was right enough, and if he did something right he desired praise for it, which was a horrible habit at best. The constant praise and affection he needed to feel useful was ridiculous. The doubt he felt whenever Momota didn’t laugh with him, the fear he felt whenever Ouma gave him a questionable look, it was all so very ridiculous. Logically he knew this, logically he knew a lot. That was why he was a detective after all; logical thinking was his forte. Still, he could understand something so very well and he could comprehend the logic behind it, that didn’t mean he’d still feel it, or believe it. He tried to believe it, but his mind loved to fuck with him. He wanted to rip it out, put a new one in. He could’ve probably asked monokuma for a new one, but he wasn’t sure if the bear would think he was crazy. He  _ felt  _ crazy.  
  
Shuichi had thrown the glass object against his wall and he’d screamed at it as it shattered, as the sharp pieces bounced off the wall and pierced his skin like the noise did. Clear tears had mixed in with his eyeliner staining it a pitiful grey as the eyeliner had been a cheap, thin black. If he looked at himself in the mirror, he wouldn’t have believed it. He wouldn’t have bought it himself, the absolute panic and exhaustion that really hid in his body.  
  
Someone had heard it, the breaking of that light. Someone had walked past the hall, and they’d heard it. If they worried about him, Saihara wasn’t sure, but at least they showed the courtesy of knocking on his door.  
  
‘Saihara-chan?’, the typical voice of a certain supreme leader sounded together with the rushed knocks, a hint of worry audible in his tone.  
  
‘I’m fine’, Shuichi called back, his own voice shaking. His throat felt dry. It was probably because of the sobs that had left his lips for such a long period of time that he thought his eyes must have run dry by now, but seemingly, they hadn’t. It wasn’t really unthinkable that Kokichi was usually awake at this time; he acted like a grown up kid most of the time anyway, so having a bedtime didn’t stop him from staying up and going out of his room. A guilt sinked into his stomach as the bluenette realised the guy may have thought he was being killed inside of the room, that was really why he said those words. Kokichi was supposed to take that as an “I don’t want to talk about it”, feel glad that he didn’t need to worry anymore and go back to sleep. Still, this was only followed by a ‘can I come in?’, by the purplenette standing outside of his room. Saihara kept quiet for a bit. ‘I’ll take that as a yes!’, the supreme leader called, wiggling the door handle that he was holding, and only then the bluenette realised that he’d kept his door unlocked. He never really locked it anyway. If someone wanted to sneak into the place and kill him in his sleep, well, ‘suit yourself’, is all he would have to say about that.  
  
‘Jesus- what happened here?’, the nagging voice of the smaller guy sounded as soon as he’d opened the door and stepped into the room, viewing the broken lightbulb that had crashed through the room and turning it into an art piece of reflecting little daggers. ‘I dropped my lightbulb’, Shuichi responded quietly, clearing his throat.  
  
‘You… m’kay then’, Kokichi responded, a blank expression on his face as his eyes examined the room. His hair had been tied back and he wore a simple shirt with shorts under them, showing Shuichi that his earlier thought about the boy not going to bed this early might have been false. Only now the purplenette’s gaze met his, and he noticed the damage that had been done to his skin, as well as the drooping eyes that couldn’t stop those useless waterworks from pushing more tears out of his dehydrated body. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but not one the bluenette couldn’t deal with.  
  
‘You’re hurt’, Ouma stated, his head tilting a bit. Shuichi knew what those eyes he was being given meant. The guy was assessing the situation. His expression was unreadable, but telling from the hand that made a small movement as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it, Saihara reasoned that he was possibly at a loss of what to do. ‘I’ve noticed’, the detective responded, trying to keep his calm. He was standing in front of the most unpredictable liar he’s ever met, so it would be a shame to have the incoming breakdown he felt was nearing right now. He wasn’t sure how cruel Kokichi was, so it could be a dangerous weapon to grant him, although it wasn’t like his situation was basically written on his forehead with invisible ink right now.  
  
The boy took a step forward. Shuichi blinked, unsure if he himself had to step back, as if they were doing some unspoken dance, or if he was supposed to come forward as well like they were stepping into a duel, so he did neither. He stood still, hoping he too could assess the situation he was in. The leader found himself in whole new territory right now, but so did Shuichi. The male reached out a hand, its palm open for Saihara, fingers reaching out for him to grab it. He could feel the air run past him from the hall, and the small cuts that the light bulb had caused stung nastily. His eyes shut themselves tightly. What was he supposed to think of this? He wasn’t sure what it all meant. Why was he even trying to find a reason behind the gesture? The last time he had taken the purplenette’s hand, the boy had pulled it away, showing he wasn’t actually on friendly terms. They weren’t really friends, so why was Ouma here, and why didn’t he leave? He had no moral obligation to be there for him, considering he’d shown many times before he didn’t like Shuichi. Although he did contradict himself on that as well by calling Shuichi  _ Saihara-chan _ and saying  _ beloved _ so now and then. Shuichi was too tired to have to consider this offer.  
  
‘Saihara’, the supreme leader’s voice sounded again. Carefully, Shuichi’s eyes opened themselves, watching the male in front of him. He still had his hand extended, held up towards him. His fingers wiggled almost teasingly, but there was no teasing look on his face. No grin, showing those weirdly small teeth of his, no sneer that indicated he was joking, no frown of madness or pity on his face. It was blank, completely blank, but not a calm type of blank. He looked serious.    
With a bit of hesitation, Shuichi took the hand. His fingers hurt a little, and his skin was shaking, his hand trembling, but he took Kokichi’s hand. It’s not like he had anything to lose, anyway. 

Ouma pulled onto his hand carefully, and Saihara decided to follow his lead. He had jumped into it anyway, so it would be unfair not to see through it as well. There was so much that Shuichi tried to start and never saw through after all, and he wouldn’t let this strangely kind gesture be one of them. He was being led out of the room, by the awfully silent guy, and into the hall. Small lights were on, the ones that were kept on during the night which wouldn’t disturb those trying to sleep. They were walking towards the basement, and Shuichi felt a bit strange following the leader this unreluctantly. He could be leading him towards his death after all, and yet he didn’t sense any danger coming off the purple haired guy.  
  
When Kokichi let go of the hand he had been holding, they were inside of the… library. Shuichi tilted his head. This place didn’t hold great memories, but the plus side of having felt so bad for so long was that it only felt a little numb now to be here. Ouma moved towards one of the shelves, and pushed some books aside, revealing a first aid kit that was hidden away behind them, carefully put out of sight. ‘...Why would they keep a first aid kit in here?’, the detective wondered out loud, blinking at the sight of the white box that Kokichi carelessly opened. Inside were bandages, gauzes, scissors and tweezers, even some cleaning alcohol, basically everything one would expect to find in the box, so it wasn’t like it had been used to hold a secret of some kind. It was just a normal aid kit.  
  
‘I put it here’, Kokichi replied to his question, taking the scissors and bandages out, as well as the gauze roll. ‘Ah, I see, makes sense’, Shuichi nodded, his tone as sarcastic as he could muster, and he sniffled as he wiped away some of the dried up tears that had manifested on his cheeks. ‘Are you always this funny when you’re sad?’, Ouma retorted easily, although he pressed his lips tightly together after he said it. ‘I’m sorry’, the guy said as he took back his words, and Shuichi raised a brow. He was pretty sure he’d never heard Kokichi apologize for real before. ‘The kits are in the dining hall, and since I’m not the most liked person in here, I decided having one as a backup that I can reach during night time wouldn’t be the worst idea I ever had’, the purplenette explained. 

‘Oh’, Shuichi muttered, again that guilt manifesting on his face. Kokichi rolled his eyes at it though, giving him a small smile. It was barely there, and Saihara decided to welcome it. The smaller guy wasn’t honest often, after all, and right now there seemed to be no tricks. No lies, no jokes. Just them in a strangely welcomed moment.  
  
The boy grabbed onto Saihara’s hand again. ‘This is just paying back for the time you patched me up, detective’, he warned, holding up a stern finger. ‘Don’t you go thinking the Supreme Leader of Evil has a soft spot, because that’s a blatant lie. After this, I’m still gonna kill you’, he proclaimed, taking one of the detective’s damaged fingers and putting a bandage around it, glancing up at the boy’s face so now and then to see if he was hurting him.  
  
While he was being taken care of like this by the most unpredictable guy one could ever imagine, Shuichi felt very strange. He had never before been cared for, at least not like this. He supposed his friends did care, although they never took a moment to do something like this. Kokichi had hid away a box that could basically cost him his life, because now that Saihara possessed over the information of its whereabouts he could take it away and still harm the guy so badly he wouldn’t make it without the medical supplies. He wasn’t planning on doing that of course, but the fact remained that it was a possibility, and for the sake of treating those dumb wounds that he never needed, Kokichi had given up his almost bullet proof plan of safety precausion. Without being able to help it, more tears started to roll down the bluenette’s cheeks.  
  
Kokichi didn’t notice it at first, until drops of water dropped onto his hands while patching the injured boy up and Shuichi’s body shook a bit more than it had before. He looked up into those grey eyes that he’d grown to respect. So now and then, when Saihara noticed something during a trial or when he’d understand something immediately without having to have explained what someone meant, those grey eyes would have a hint of gold shimmering through them. At moments like those Kokichi couldn’t help but to be captivated by those eyes. Right now they had the same time of glimpse, and it was throwing the supreme leader off. He had dealt with the worst kind of people during his free years and he had dealt with the most pitiful being a leader of a group of friends with bonds closer than most family members are, and he had grown to have a huge respect for those that went through mental struggles and still managed to keep standing. The mind could be a horrible thing, Ouma knew all too well. It wasn’t exactly that he felt sorry for Shuichi, but he felt… bad. Bad, that someone like him (if someone at all), with such an interesting mind and different vision should have to feel these unpleasantries. He wasn’t sure how far the guy’s destructive tendencies went, but he could basically guess.  
  
‘Did I hurt you?’, the supreme leader asked carefully, cringing a bit at the genuinely careful voice. He wasn’t that used to this, to being genuine around others, but he supposed he could manage. ‘N-no, i-it’s alright, I-I just’, Shuichi hiccuped through soft cries, shaking his head to rid himself of the tears. He seemed mad almost at those tears, and Kokichi understood where he was coming from. Desperately wanting to man up and yet having emotions get the better of you caused a terribly wrecking feeling. ‘I d-don’t know why y-you’re being this k-kind to me’, Saihara managed to finish, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand almost aggressively, his cheeks turning redder from the action. Kokichi let go of the gauze he was holding and took Shuichi’s hand away from his face. Saihara seemed a little shocked at the action, blinking down at the purple haired male, and opening his lips to say something, but seemingly not able to do so.    
Almost by instinct, Kokichi pulled Shuichi into a hug.  
  
‘Saihara-chan’, Ouma started quitely, holding the trembling boy in his arms, who after a moment of hesitation allowed the hug and even reciprocated it, feeling a weird sense of protectiveness. ‘Saihara-chan, you’ve not been through the worst yet’, the boy told him, the words only holding truth, and nothing more. ‘There’s gonna be moments where things are… well, where things fucking suck’, Kokichi chuckled humorlessly, his throat blocking and choking up on the words near the end, feeling like he may start to cry soon as well. He hated pitying himself, but he too went through things like these, and he understood Shuichi. He wasn’t going to pity a guy as great as he could be any time soon, but he understood. ‘There’s gonna be moments where you wish you took your chances as soon as they presented themselves’, Ouma continued, blinking as he looked down over the boy’s shoulder. Shuichi’s face was buried into Kokichi’s shoulder, and he was sobbing, shaking with each breath he took. Still, the purplenette hoped he was listening to him. ‘But there are also going to be moments that you laugh at your past self for being so negative’, he muttered, a hand reaching up to stroke the bluenette’s hair carefully.  
  
‘I-it’s never g-gonna- I-I can’t- I-’, Saihara coughed, his hands bawling as he had a death grip on the supreme leader without realising it. He wasn’t aware he needed a hug as much as he did, and yet here he was. ‘Shh’, Ouma shushed him with a small sigh, fingers gently caressing the scalp. He was looking straight on ahead now into nothing. In a way he could relate to the crying boy in his arms. In a way he felt like he could have  _ been _ him at the moment, had he not changed his way of thinking entirely. ‘You and I both know I can’t predict the future and say everything is gonna be just peachy’, Kokichi told him, ‘but you have gone through those moments that just make things matter, haven’t you? Solving a case that others called unsolvable, for example, but also small things. Things like making a friend laugh, like having a cup of tea made for you, like watching a show you love… things like that, the small things, those are what makes your time worth it. You don’t have to mean something to the entire world, as long as you can mean something to someone’, Ouma breathed, closing his eyes and taking a moment to organize his thoughts. ‘At least that’s what I think’, he finished, with a small hum.  
  
‘I-it’s so.. s-so hard I-I..’, Shuichi sniffled, as his tears were soaking through Kokichi’s shirt, but the latter didn’t seem to care all too much. ‘I know’, Kokichi said knowingly with a grim look, holding the bluenette closer to himself. ‘I know it is. But… you’re not alone, alright?’, the purple haired guy smiled sadly, letting his hand rub small circles onto the trembling male’s back. ‘You’re not alone, I promise you that. Now can we please sit down, because my neck is hurting from straining it since you’re so humongously long’, Ouma complained.  
  
Through the tears, Shuichi couldn’t help but to snicker quietly at that. Sitting down they did, and Kokichi didn’t mention it as Saihara sat as close to him as he could. Being touch starved wasn’t something he could help after all.  
  
There were a lot of times that the detective did feel like he was all alone, but sitting in the library with someone of whom he still didn’t know if he was friend or foe, he didn’t feel that lonely anymore.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> I forgot to mention this but dont feel bad if you hihi at some parts cuz i cant help not taking myself seriously either jfkjhffkj


End file.
